Feel Better
by Gosen the Saiya-Jin
Summary: On hot pursuit of a dangerous criminal, John gets shot and Sherlock is forced to deal with his feelings. JohnxSherlock
1. Chapter 1

_Sherlock and John had been walking around for quite a bit. Sneaking around was more like it. They were on a case and were closing in on the killer. Or so, they thought. It was rather more like the criminal had been closing in on them. The two of them stood flat against a nearby wall as though it were a floor. John gave a signal to alert Sherlock he would go first. That was the mistake. The two of them had assumed the killer was in front of them when in fact they were behind; and above. John took two steps and there was a loud BANG! John fell to the hard brick floor with a loud thud. Sherlock looked utterly bewildered. He searched John and found his gun. Snatching it as fast as he could, he aimed towards where the shot had come from. He shot a few times and then he saw the killer run off. He snarled a bit and wanted to run after them. But then he remembered John_

"John!" He yelled, wide eyed before tossing the gun to the side, clacking as it hit the ground.

He kneeled and placed his hands on his partner's shoulders, frantically searching for the gun wound. He thought fast and opened his best friend's shirt. There was blood everywhere. He tore off his own blue scarf and applied pressure.

John gave a violent cough, "Sherlo— "

Sherlock's eyes were intense, "Do not speak! You are going to fine, do you hear me? Alright? Alright?"

His friend's eyes were fading. Sherlock wanted him to reply. He needed to hear John say he was going to be fine. All he got were a few raspy mumbles and some noises that sounded like a choked cough.

"She—Sherlock…" He said. And that's the last word he said.

Sherlock gasped slightly, his eyes traveling every which way, "Yes? Yes?!" He pressed harder, hoping to trigger a response. Fear entered him and he didn't understand it. He just stared at his flat mate, waiting for an answer that never came "John! John?!" 

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock stood there in his flat, holding up his violin. He had been reliving that moment when he was snapped out of it by his own brother's voice.

Mycroft gave him a strange look, "Well?"

"Huh?" Sherlock lifted his head, slightly. "Oh!" He went back to strumming a few notes on his violin, "Sorry, wasn't listening. Do continue speaking. I'll try not to ignore you. Can't make any promises, though…" He closed his eyes and continued his musical piece.

"Are you quite serious?" Mycroft stared at him with shock.

Sherlock paused for a moment, "…Quite" Then he started up again.

"So you're not going, then?"

Not stopping, he replied, "I thought I made that clear"

"Sherlock! He's your best friend. You can at least- Mycroft didn't get to finish. He suddenly found himself face to face with the Consulting Detective.

"Go where? Where are you suggesting?" Sherlock started but when Mycroft opened his mouth to speak, Sherlock did once more, "Shut up. I know exactly where you want me to go. You want me to go to the hospital, that right? Well, I'm not going, especially if it's a direct 'order' from you…Is that really so hard to grasp? Answer: Of course, no. Saved you the trouble. See you later, brother, dear, or if you're feeling pleasant, not…" He turned his back to him.

"You know this has nothing to do with you and me, don't you?" Mycroft spoke.

Sherlock's eyes shook slightly. He was fighting something within. He didn't want to see John. Not there.

"I've said it before…Mycroft! Going there won't change a thing. People die, don't they? Do the visits they get from friends…family, etc, change a thing? No" He violently turned his head to look at him, "No. They die anyway…"

Mycroft closed his eyes, "What do you intend to do, then? Sit here, rotting in that little head of yours?"

"Preposterous!" He shoved past Mycroft and over to a table that had millions of papers scattered all over, "I'm going to find his shooter…"

"Find his shooter? How exactly do you intend to do that?" Mycroft asked.

"The clues are all here…" Sherlock replied, "All I need to do is go find the fragments of whatever's left of that bullet and-

Mycroft laughed through his nose as he walked towards the door.

Sherlock stopped him with a "What?"

"It's already been collected." He answered.

Sherlock's eyes tightened with confusion, "By who?" He stared into space for a moment and found his answer, "Lestrade…"

Mycroft had left and no later was Sherlock on the phone with the DI. An hour passed before the Inspector arrived. Sherlock was playing the violin once again when Lestrade walked in.

"Now, what's this about, then?"

"Did you bring it?" Sherlock inquired calmly, back facing him.

"Bring what? All you said was 'Come over right away!'" Lestrade said, confused.

Sherlock let out a sound of annoyance, lifting the hand that held the violin's bow and placed it on his head, "Any idiot would have assumed that I was asking you to bring over evidence. Why else would I invite you to my flat? A cuppa tea?"

Lestrade rolled his eyes, "What evidence?"

Sherlock eyed him intently, "You know damn well what evidence…"

Lestrade pressed his lips into a stressed line and placed hands on his sides, looking down with eyes closed, "Is this about John?"

"Brilliant deduction" Sherlock said in a high sarcastic way.

Lestrade looked up at him, "You _still_ haven't seen 'im, have you? After the ambulance, I mean"

Sherlock began to play his violin loudly, "I'm doing what he'd want…I'm going to find his killer…"

"For God sake, he's not dead!" Lestrade spoke loudly.

"Sorry, thinking future tense. No surprises in the days coming if I'm already prepared, don't you think?"

"You wanna know what I think?" Lestrade asked, a little angry.

"Not really but go on" Sherlock said, casually.

"I think you're an idiot…You're lazing about here when you have a friend who could be _dying_ and all you can think about is a stupid case! How could you possibly know what he wants when you won't even see him? Isn't there anything you need to tell him?"

"Need!" That word seemed to spark something in Sherlock. Lestrade seemed pleased until he saw him walking away, playing his violin harder. "I need…I need…I need to think!" His eyes tightened and soon his violin playing wasn't even a song anymore, it was just a bunch of screeches that made Lestrade quickly cover his ears.

"Sherlock!" He yelled, but it was barely audible above Sherlock's _music_ "What you want is-I don't have it! The hospital…they took it out but they seem to have misplaced it!"

Sherlock opened his eyes and halted his violin playing. He looked as though he was having an incredible breakthrough, "…Get out" It sounded like a whisper

"What…?" The DI asked.

"Get out!" Sherlock yelled, to make sure he was heard.

Lestrade sighed, "Sherlock…"

When he didn't leave, Sherlock began screeching his violin like never before. So loud and painful; definitely delivered his message, though, seeing as Lestrade ran out of the flat to get away from the noise.

Sherlock fell to his knees. No one had any idea of what he was going through. Of course, how could they? They're all idiots. Seeing John wouldn't change a thing. He didn't want to see him until he closed this case. He kept telling himself that it was okay because he knew John would want that, right? He kept picturing in his head the 'maybes' He deduced all the different scenarios of if he had gone to the hospital. Of course, in his negative mind state, they all ended badly. It made him feel emotions that he couldn't place and he didn't like that. People around him died all the time and yet he always remained calm and of sound mind. Couldn't he do that with John? No. Because the thought of losing John turned him inside out. That's why he couldn't go see him. The thought of being there as he slipped away would be unbearable. He wanted revenge; revenge for the one who put him there. He raked his nails against the floor as he thought about it. He'd never been so angry before. But…he needed that bullet.

He breathed, "Looks like I'm going to a hospital, after all…"

It was late at night when Sherlock arrived. He'd found a way into the hospital secretly. He didn't want it known by anyone that he was actually here. He kept reminding himself that he wasn't here to see John. He was here to retrieve a bullet and that was it. He was able to deduce the whole hospital down to one hallway. So, now it was just finding the right room.

'Shouldn't be too difficult' Sherlock thought, walking around with his hands in his pockets.

He stopped in front of a door and jiggled the handle. It wasn't locked but it was a patient's room. There was no way he'd find what he needed inside. Just then, he heard footsteps. Sherlock began to wish he'd come in disguise. He glanced behind himself once or twice before slipping into the room and quickly (but quietly) shut the door. Sherlock pressed his back against the door below the window as to not be seen. He saw the shadow of the figure pass by and breathed a small sigh of relief. Sherlock stood back up and straightened his coat. He looked around the room. It was dark but his eyes didn't take long to adjust to the light. He heard the rustling of a sheet and a couple groans. He took this as his cue to leave. But before he did, an all too familiar voice rang through his ears. The voice was raspy, tired but still recognizable

"Not even gonna say hello. hmm?"

Sherlock's heart stopped and his eyes grew wider. "John." He said in a whisper. He was in John's room. He stepped away from the door and strode towards what he assumed was the bed.

A look of intrigue was fixed on the detective's face, "How'd you know it was me?"

John's eyes were closed and he looked relaxed, "You're sneaking into my room in the middle of the night, of _course_ it's you. Sherlock." He paused when his friend didn't speak. His face shifted a second as he came to Sherlock's conclusion, "Mmm..Yeah, I suppose it could have been the murderer but I've been lying in this bed for God knows how long, so I assume they're taking time off…I was beginning to think they'd got you too. It's been a bit since I heard from you"

Sherlock glanced to the side, wearing a frown. However, John was talking. That was proof enough that he'd be alright. He wanted to leave and yet, he didn't. He wasn't showing any emotion but he really was jumping for joy inside that John was okay. But it just felt awkward visiting John in a hospital when they weren't in the morgue.

Sherlock sat on chair that was next to the bed. He folded his hands, "Ah, you are wondering why I haven't visited you.."

John cleared his throat and readjusted himself, "I didn't say that"

"You were thinking it" Sherlock stated.

"And how do you know I was thinking it?" John inquired but then remembered who he was talking to, "Nevermind that.."

"You are an open book, John"

"Yes, Yes, Of course…You, on the other hand, are a library" John spoke, breathing heavily but trying to seem more well than he actually was. "And this chapter I believe reads you're not here to see me…No, no, no. Why visit your friend when there's a case going on, right? You are here for a bullet…"

Sherlock was honestly shocked and John opened his eyes and stared at him. John let out a bitter giggle. The detective tried his best to analyze his partner, using every ounce of his deduction skills. He was amazed that John knew exactly why he was here. What else did he know? Just then his eyes widened.

"You…have it" Sherlock realized and John just smiled at him.

"Your powers of deduction never cease to amaze me…Of course, I have it. I knew it was the only way you'd come visit me…Pity, really… Thought I at least meant something to you" John reached an arm under his back. Rustling and crinkle noises were heard as he searched. Finally, a plastic Ziploc emerged and he tossed it over to Sherlock who caught it immediately, "…There you are"

"John.." For once, he was actually at a loss for words, " I-um.." He stared at the bag and raised it once and then lowered it again, giving a small fake smile "Thanks. For this. Yeah.." He slipped it into his jacket pocket and stood, "See you later?"

John made a sound of acknowledgment and then heard the click of the door. He closed his eyes once more and let out a sigh. He didn't even know why he was upset. He should expect no less from Sherlock. The sociopath was never one for sentiment or caring. All that mattered were the cases and him lying in this bed was one of the many risks John took by walking with Sherlock Holmes. But John couldn't help wanting him to be by his side at all times, especially when he wasn't sure if he was going to make it. John glanced to the side and saw his phone on the table that sat next to his bed. He picked it up and messed with it. He went into his messages and eyed his unsent text. He had written it shortly after he'd arrived at the hospital. John remembered he had been weak and his consciousness was weaving in and out but the message was so important. It might have been his last chance;

_ I love you –JW _

He stared intently at the words and then stared at the ceiling, his heartbeat beginning to pick up. He breathed in and out heavily a few times and then glanced back at his phone. With one quick stroke, he deleted the message. John began to wonder why he'd typed it in the first place. His free hand traveled up his face and ran through his hair. Why? Why did he love that machine? John cleared his throat again and then relaxed himself back into his pillow. Just when he was about to let sleep over come him, he heard his phone beep

'A text?' John wondered. He grabbed his phone and went to see. His eyes widened slightly.

_ Feel better – SH _

John couldn't help but giggle and think 'That's why…'

A wide smile set on Sherlock's face as he stared at John through the door's window. It's amazing how two words could cause his friend's face to brighten. Maybe next time, he'll use three.


	2. Chapter 2

John had not been yet released from the hospital and Sherlock hadn't been back to see him since the night he'd retrieved the bullet. He however did keep in touch via text every other day. Recovery was going well and he was expected to go home in a few days. He'd had frequent visits from Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade and was definitely getting his strength back. So much so that he tired of being required to stay put in bed. Especially when Sherlock was in hot pursuit of a murderer. That was clearly more exciting than making sure he got 'enough rest' as the doctors and his friends had implored. John heaved a sigh as he sat up in his bed. His hands were fidgeting as he squeezed the light blanket covering his legs. He quickly grabbed his phone and began writing a text.

_ I am going bloody insane here. How's the case going? – JW _

Elsewhere, Sherlock stood at the top of that very hospital building. Strong wind was blowing as he stands there by the edge. But he was not alone. At his feet laid a man bloody and beaten. His legs were tied up by a long black cable. The cable stretched to under Sherlock's shoe and they were so close to the edge that one lift of the foot would cause the wounded man to fall several stories. Sherlock's calm yet angry rant was put to a halt when he heard his phone beep. He reached into his pocket and pulled it out to check his messages. A small snicker escaped his lips as he one handedly sent a one worded text back to his restless friend.

_Boring. – SH _

Just then, Sherlock lifted his foot and released the cable. He closed his eyes as he turned up his coat collar and was surrounded by nothing but the sound of a thick wind and a loud scream that seemed to get lower and lower as the man plummeted to his most-likely death. After a moment or two, Sherlock picked up the phone again and made a call, "Hello, Detective Inspector. Caught that murderer for you…There was a bit of an incident. Medical attention most likely required. No, no…He fortunately landed right near a hospital.."

"Sorry…Did you say landed?"

Sherlock just smirked and hung up.

"Heard you cracked the case…" Spoke John over the phone.

Sherlock sat in one of the chairs in their living room with legs folded as he talked with the Army doctor, "Wasn't much to crack but you could say yes. Was a bit disappointed with how easy he was to catch, though. Figured a guy like that would put up more of a fight" Sherlock shrugged, "Bah, Oh well…"

There was a pause, "Easy? Disappointed? The man nearly got me killed…"

"Nearly being the key word here…" Sherlock replied.

John merely breathed and started a new sentence, "So, come on, tell me all about it? What happened to him? In custody, is he?"

Sherlock squeezed his mouth then shook his head from side to side, "Mmm…More or less"

"Is he dead?" John asked straightforwardly.

Sherlock tried dodging the question and gave his reply so swiftly that John barely heard it, "That's yet to be determined…Now aren't we getting tired, John? You know the doctor's said you need plenty of rest…" His concern sounded false.

John spoke sternly, "Sherlock. I'm in a hospital and for the duration of my stay I've done nothing _but_ sleep. So much, in fact, I swear once I get out of here I could stay up a week"

"I'll hold you to that, you know" Sherlock warned.

"Believe me, I know that…" John's smile could be heard over the phone. There was a long pause and then he spoke again, "Sure you won't come around?"

"John. I've spoke of this. Far too busy. So many potential cases just waiting…" Sherlock lied as he crumpled up the morning's paper and tossed it away like a basketball, "More important things to do than wait around a hospital room being bored to death…"

Instantly, there was an awkward pause. Sherlock could have almost seen what John's expression must look like. He thought a moment and then asked, "Poor choice of words…?"

More silence and then a breath, "Goodbye, Sherlock"

Sherlock looked bewildered and confused as the line went dead, "What…?" He pulled the phone away from his ear and just stared at it as if it were the strangest thing he'd seen.

Sherlock spent the next few hours lying on the couch doing more thinking about one thing than he had ever done before. It was strange to him but all he could think about was John. He thought about him in that hospital bed. He kept rationalizing and trying to bury the silly thoughts because John was fine and he had nothing that should warrant concern, so, why think about him?

'Block all John-related thoughts from your mind' Sherlock told himself, 'Focus on something more important!'

"God!" He shouted, jumping to his feet and looking towards the ceiling, "What is more important?!"

For a moment, he was seriously waiting for an answer; hoping some type of distraction would fall from the sky. The case was closed. His euphoric high had left and just like every time a case had finished, his mind raced for something else to demand his attention. John was usually the one who helped him through these little moments of his…There it was again! His name. As hard as he tried and no matter how many subjects inhabited his vast brain, everything right now was John. He fought but couldn't deny it; He wanted John here.

More hours past and Sherlock spent it doing little to nothing. He'd not a distraction in the world and he felt as though he were going out of his mind. Mrs. Hudson popped in a few times, no doubt suggesting that he go see John. He just ignored her like he'd done to everyone else who'd proposed that to him. Sherlock wanted to scream and shout and yank out his hair. When had John created such a need in him? It made no sense. A man who had always forsaken sentiment and caring and emotions was actually feeling such things. He didn't know when it happened but a feeling had developed inside him; a feeling that John was never safe unless Sherlock was there, even if in secret.

"Oh, John…" He whispered in the lowest whisper he could manage, "Why do I need you? Why do I need you? Why do I need you?" Sherlock's eyes closed.

After making such a big fuss about not going, he felt awkward now that he was considering it. Then again, why did it even matter? He would be home in a few days anyway. Sherlock sat up and reached for his phone. He contemplated sending John a text or maybe even calling him back. Just as he was about to, he was alarmed by the sound of his phone ringing. Sherlock just stared at it a moment before answering.

"Hello?"

"Hello. Yes..Sherlock? You're there?" came Lestrade's voice, semi-loud.

Sherlock's eyebrows narrowed at the noise level, "Yes, I'm here! Lower your voice. What's the matter? Case?"

"…You gotta get down here" He said.

"Where?" Sherlock asked.

"The hospital" Lestrade answered.

"Look, I've told you-Sherlock began but Lestrade interrupted him.

"John's gone."

Sherlock's eyes widened a moment and he stood straight up at the end of the sentence. Sherlock felt his heart racing at the speed of light but of course he didn't allow those feelings to affect his sound at all, "What do you mean? Explain yourself"

"I mean, he's not here!" Lestrade sounded rushed, like he was running through a hall or something.

"Missing?" Sherlock inquired for confirmation. He began to calm down. It was definitely not good but it was also not nearly as bad as his previous thought. Lestrade gave him affirmation and Sherlock spoke again, "I'll be there straight away." Then he hung up.

Sherlock grabbed his coat and scarf which had been lying on a nearby chair and slipped them on. Just before he finished tying his blue scarf, he noticed the reddish brown stain. He ran his fingers across it as John's name popped into his head. He shook his head and finished tying it before flying down the stairs. He ripped the door open and ran to the edge of the sidewalk. He scanned all around the street until he spotted a nearby cab and waved it over to him. Sherlock sighed in relief as it stopped before him and he pulled the door open, sliding into the seat almost instantly. He gave the cabbie directions and then the car took off.

Once the vehicle was moving, Sherlock wasted no time to start thinking. His hand fidgeted, fingers opening and closing in a sort of pattern as he thought about all the possibilities. One of them was very plausible and gave him no reason to worry, nor anyone else. John could have just walked out himself. I mean, there were a number of times where he'd commented about how bored he was. Maybe Lestrade was just overreacting. Heck, John could be on his way back to Baker St via a different cab for all they knew. Sherlock stared out the window, not really looking at anything. That thought brought him comfort. Whatever was going on, he'd find out soon enough.

The cab came to a halt as they reached the hospital. Sherlock paid him and exited the car. He nearly ran to the entrance, passing by a few police cars along the way. He kept telling himself it was no big deal. John was fine. He was sure of it.

Sherlock immediately made his way to John's room. Having visited that one night, he had the location memorized. When he entered, he noticed the state of the room was very messy; Some equipment had been knocked over, the sheet hanging off the edge of the bed, some scratch marks on the wall, small but still apparent. He saw Lestrade among a few other people. Sherlock walked up and greeted him.

"This the way you found it?" He asked.

Lestrade nodded, "Yeah. We have people looking into it now. They're searching all over for 'im"

Sherlock made a sound of acknowledgement but he doubted any of his men would find him. Looking around the room, he realized his former hypothesis was incorrect. Something happened here but the question was; what?

"Could this be linked?" Lestrade wondered and Sherlock looked at him, "To the case you just solved…?"

"…Perhaps" He replied in a low voice. But part of him was unsure how. He'd taken care of the shooter. The guy was lying in a hospital bed, an inch from death so it couldn't be him.

Sherlock decided to look around the room more. He continually saw all the signs of a struggle but that's it. He was getting frustrated. He needed something to lead him to John. Just then, he caught a glimpse of something in the corner of his eye. Something was peeking out from underneath the bed. Sherlock knelt down and lifted up the sheet. It was a phone, face down. He slowly and carefully picked it up. Analyzing it, there was no doubt; this was definitely John's phone. He tossed it up slightly to flip it over to see the screen. When he did, his eyes widened slightly.

"Sherlock?" He heard his name being called and shoved the phone into his pocket. He stood and looked at Lestrade who began to talk again, "Look, we don't seem to be doing any good here. I'll have everybody start searching the block…"

Sherlock shook his head slowly, small amounts of shock in his expression, "Don't bother…"

"What? Why Not?" The Detective Inspector asked.

"…They're still here" were Sherlock's last words before he exited the room.  
-


	3. Chapter 3

After he'd left the room, he pulled John's phone out of his coat pocket. He stared at the screen again. It was covered in blood but no random pattern. There was a crimson message. It said _ 'Rooftop' _ Running his thumb across the letters, it smeared. This told him that John hadn't been missing for very long so there was definitely hope. Sherlock wiped the blood away and unlocked John's phone, hopefully seeing if there were any other clues. But what he found made his heart nearly stop. He blinked a couple times and let out a deep breath. John had been writing a text to him; probably before he'd been abducted. Reading it just made him all the more determined to find him. He squeezed the phone tightly before slipping it back into his pocket.

Sherlock knew the layout of this place so he instantly determined which route led to the roof. He found it so very interesting that the captor chose the roof as his hideout. The same roof he'd thrown the murderer from the previous case off of. Maybe this was linked, after all. But what he couldn't understand was why John? And furthermore, who could be behind it?

As Sherlock got closer to his destination, he eyed some red marks on the wall. Judging by the random splatter, he could tell John had held his own for quite some time. He smirked for a second, admiring how resilient his friend was. Getting back to the task at hand, Sherlock found the door that led to the roof. He had to be careful. At the moment he didn't quite know what he was dealing with. He felt every inch of the door with a hand and pressed his ear against it; just in case it was booby trapped somehow. It didn't seem to be but he could hear voices, so he listened in.

_ "Shut it!" _ it was a man speaking. Sherlock didn't recognize the voice, though.

_"I swear to you…"_ a large pained sigh was heard, _"He's not coming!"_ Sherlock's eyes widened. That was John! Raspy, he sounded hurt but he could definitely place his voice anywhere.

He quietly turned the door handle and was now on the roof. The abductor's back was facing him. He crept slowly.

'Excellent' Sherlock thought 'The element of surprise' One of his favorites.

John sat there with his eyes tightened. Not from the pain but it seemed like sheer annoyance. He kept trying to convince this man that Sherlock wasn't going to show but it wasn't working. John clenched a hand and then shouted, "He hasn't even shown for a majority of my hospital stay! What makes you think he's going to show…" John froze a moment and his eyes grew wide as he saw Sherlock standing barely 2 inches away from the mad man, "…Now" He finished but his disbelief had overcome the last word of the sentence. He couldn't believe Sherlock was here.

The unknown man raised an arm to attack John once more but stopped at the sound of Sherlock's deep yet calm voice, "I wouldn't do that…"

The man seemed to jump out of his skin at the sound. He whipped around and looked at Sherlock. In a rush of adrenaline, he pulled out a gun that had been concealed in his jacket. Sherlock backed a few paces and raised his hands in compliance. He thought quickly, studying everything about this man that he could.

"Let him go. He has nothing to do with this…" Sherlock requested slowly.

"Never bark orders at the man with the gun…" He said, "You might get shot…" Then, he pulled the trigger. A shot was fired but luckily enough, with fast motion, Sherlock was able to dodge it.

"Sherlock-Jesus!" John panted, lifting a hand to his head, just staring at his friend. His heart almost stopped at the sight of Sherlock nearly being shot. John wanted to come to his aid but his legs wouldn't work at the moment. He cursed under his breath.

"I know who you are" The shooter said.

"Yes…" Sherlock straightened up and gave a tiny smirk, "And I believe I know who you are, as well…" He walked back and forth, looking the man up and down, "Should have been my first conclusion. Don't know why I hadn't thought of it before. You're no experienced murderer, no, no. The way you shoot says: Amateur without a clue. Your form from a moment ago was riddled with flaws. You're shaky, nervous, full of adrenaline. This tells me you are manic and constantly worried about making a mistake…and then there's your resemblance. A relative of our friendly neighborhood shooter, I presume? Not a cousin, but a brother. Yes, I believe that's it…"

"A brother?" John asked with amazement.

Sherlock nodded but didn't take his eyes off the man in front of him, "A brother; Revenge bound, no doubt."

Sherlock took a moment to discretely note John's condition. His voice was deeper than usual, most likely due to what he'd gone through before the detective had arrived. Blood trailed down the side of his face, while a bruise or two seemed to form on the other side. Sherlock's face twitched slightly at the view but he remained calm. He had a gift for masking his true emotions. When his eyes shifted back to the brother, he saw the anger on his face. He'd been completely on the mark with his deduction, he assumed.

Sherlock laughed, "What do you plan to do, shoot me? To avenge what you've lost..?"

"You took him away from me!" He said, his hands on the gun shaking.

"I took away a cold-blooded murder" Sherlock added, "Now drop the gun… You don't want to hurt anybody. You barely know what you're doing"

"No!" He shouted as he backed up. He wrapped his arm around John tightly. John almost winced at the pain but none of that mattered once he could feel the gun pressed against his ear. He didn't say a word, merely glanced ahead looking at nothing. With any false move and this guy's gun experience, it would all be over. John attempted to keep his breathing steady

"Oh my God…" John whispered.

"You-You're the reason my brother is gone!" The man said, looking at Sherlock. He glanced every which way as if he was just making up his plans on the spot, "So…" He paused and then pressed the gun harder, "I'm going to take away the one that means the most to you! I'll make him dead and you…you'll see how it feels…to have your life taken away!"

"Your brother's not dead. He's still alive; barely but he is. Kill him, us, or whoever you choose… It's not going to change the fact your brother is dying. Shouldn't you want to see him in his final moments? That's…what normal people do…Right, John?" Sherlock asked, seeming like this wasn't his area of expertise.

John rolled his eyes and spoke quietly, "Practice what you preach, why don't ya…?"

His words seem to sting a bit but Sherlock couldn't dwell on that for too long. That's something to think about _after_ his blogger's life wasn't being threatened.

"No! You don't understand! This is the only way to make it okay! I'm not gonna let you get away with this. You don't deserve it! I have to shoot him! I have to" The man seemed confused.

"And what if I said I didn't care about him at all? Would that change things?" Sherlock inquired.

John just shot him a bewildered look.

The man began to look sinister, "No, no…I know-I've heard of you…Ever the clever one. Sherlock Holmes, is it? You'd say anything to get your mate out of harm's way…My brother knew that, so, he shot him. Knew it'd slow you down…He was good…"

Sherlock smirked, "Didn't end too well for him, though, did it?"

"Not gonna end well for you either…" He replied.

"I'll be the judge of that"

John heard the gun click and that's when he used every ounce the strength he had remaining to lunge backwards. They'd been dangerously close to the edge. Sherlock definitely wasn't expecting that so he gasped. The gun flew out of the brother's hand and Sherlock ran to grab it. The man began to lose his balance as he danced by the edge of the roof. He was still hanging onto John which made things worse and suddenly they began to fall.

Sherlock's eyes shrunk and an insane amount of fear entered him, "John!" He screamed as he jumped to grab John's hands. Sherlock managed to grab his sleeves. He tried pulling John back up but something was fighting him. He glanced down and noticed that the brother was tugging down, his arms wrapped around John's legs. Sherlock thought quickly and grabbed the gun with a hand.

"I don't have to shoot you!" Sherlock warned.

The man seemed to come to his senses and allowed Sherlock to pull them both up. Once he did, however, the man came at him, trying to choke him. Sherlock held his forearms away from his neck only a few inches. He couldn't get the gun with him on him like this. He was now wishing he'd just shot him when he had the chance. Sherlock maneuvered his legs, finding a way to push the abductor off of him. He was finally able to take a breather. But that didn't last very along because he came at him once more. Just then, John grabbed the attacker from behind. He nodded his head, motioning for Sherlock to grab the gun.

"Come on! Nnnng! Sherlock!" John seems be struggling to hold on to him but even so, attempted holding him even tighter.

Sherlock looked at them both, holding the gun up in an intimidating way. However, the brother didn't stop fighting to get free. He could tell John was losing his grip. He was weak right now; not strong enough for this.

John looked Sherlock deep in the eyes and gave him a nod. Sherlock just remained staring at him. He knew what John had meant. It was the nod that said 'It's okay to shoot' Sherlock definitely didn't want to have to do that. He cocked the gun and then eyed them with his most serious look. Both John and the attacker shut their eyes tightly, preparing for what was about to happen.

Just then, there was a huge **WHACK! ** The brother fell to the ground with a thud. John opened his eyes and stared at Sherlock with shock and amazement. Yes, he'd used the gun on him but not in the most conventional way. He'd used it as a blunt instrument to knock the man out. The back of his head was bloody but not fatal.

In a response to John's gaze, Sherlock laughs and opens the gun's casing, "No bullets…"

John placed a hand on his side and another over his eyes and started laughing. He repeated Sherlock's statement and laughed again. It then seemed like all strength had left his legs and he plopped onto the ground in a sitting position, "Okay…Yeah. Not moving for a while…"

Sherlock took this moment to phone Lestrade. He gave him all the details, let him know he'd found John and where to collect his friend's kidnapper. He ended the call and then brought his attention back to his injured flatmate. Sherlock offers John his hand and he took it. However, it wasn't enough to help him up, so Sherlock grabbed his arm with the other hand. Finally, John could stand and Sherlock let go.

"You're okay?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, I'm certainly not bored anymore…" John replied and soon after, they shared a short laugh together. When they ceased, there was a bit of a long pause. John was the one to speak again, "So, that's what it takes, then?" Sherlock eyed him, "Some bloody maniac holding me hostage?"

"Well…" Sherlock lifted a hand. He seemed a bit lost for a reply, "You were in danger, so…"

John bobbed his head from side to side a moment, "All that to get you to visit me?"

"John…" Sherlock began to explain but John interrupted him.

"No, no…It's good. Thanks" He smiled.

Sherlock's lips froze in their speaking position as a look of bewilderment overcame him, "Oh…Um…Yes." He nodded and swallowed, "No big problem"

A Thank-You. Gratitude was the last thing Sherlock expected after this whole thing.

Sherlock escorted John back to his hospital room. A bunch of people were there when he'd first arrived; many friends just glad to see John was alright. Sherlock was pretty glad himself even though he kept his emotions dormant. A smile or two did escape him though. After twenty minutes or so, everyone had started to leave. Sherlock, however, had decided to stay. A nurse had come in and given John fresh bandages for his new injuries and Sherlock just watched as he was patched up. When she'd left, it was now just the two of them. John looked at Sherlock.

"Upset you'll now have to stay a little longer?" Sherlock inquired.

John didn't answer his question. He sat there, looking down at his hands, "Sherlock…?"

"What?"

"I…continue to be amazed by you" John said, now looking at him again, "I'm not going to lie. I just really can't believe you actually showed up"

"How could I not?" Sherlock asked.

John giggled once through his nose, "You gave me plenty of reasons of 'How could you not'"

Sherlock moved his mouth to the side and tilted his head, closing his eyes a second. John had him there. Sherlock made a noise to let him know he'd agreed.

John wanted to give his never-ending thanks to him but he knew Sherlock. He'd probably just brush it off and tell him not to bother.

"I'm glad I got there in time…" Sherlock seemed to whisper but John heard it which made him instantly stare at him again

"I'm sorry?" John asked; he wanted to hear it again but Sherlock didn't give him that luxury.

"So, John, you wanna know how I managed to find you?" Sherlock began walking around the room, arms folded behind his back.

John raised his eyebrows once, urging Sherlock to continue.

Sherlock stuffed a hand in his coat pocket and pulled out John's phone. "Your phone" He announced, wiping off some of the red that remained around the edges, "It was quite a bloody mess…" He cleared his throat, "A message…There was a message telling me where you were"

John gave a quick nod, "I see.."

Sherlock shook his head once and looked up in thought, "No…wait. I believe there were two messages.."

"Two?" John asked.

"Yes" Sherlock replied and strolled up to John. John was surprised when Sherlock pressed his forehead against his. He tried to say something but just couldn't. He wasn't even sure what Sherlock was doing. He felt Sherlock's soft breath against his face. Oh, it was heavenly. Then he felt him grab one of his hands. John looked into his eyes and glanced lower to see the smile on Sherlock's beautiful face. Suddenly, a phone was placed in the hand that he'd been holding, "By the way, send that text…" Sherlock separated from him and walked towards the door. Before he left the room, he smiled and said, "You just might get a reply"

When Sherlock was gone, John looked down at his phone. Once it was on and John saw the text Sherlock had been talking about, his heart raced. John had retyped the message he'd deleted that night:

_ I love you – JW _

Sherlock had seen it? This made his heart pound even harder. He wasn't sure what to think. He'd seen it and didn't act the least bit negative or awkward towards him. Was he toying with him? John didn't know. How could he? It was Sherlock. But, in any case, John decided to take a chance. He pressed the send button. His hands shook slightly afterwards as he thought about what he'd just done. He sucked in a deep breath and then exhaled. Sure enough, a moment later, John got a text alert. He blinked a few times as he went to look.

_ Noted and reciprocated – SH _

His face nearly dropped in disbelief and he stared closer, making sure he read it correctly. A second passed and another text arrived:

_ See you soon – SH _  
-


	4. Chapter 4

-  
John had hardly been able to sleep since he'd received that text. He would keep checking his phone every now and then just to make sure it was still there. It'd been a few days since they'd apprehended the murderer's brother. Lestrade had been in to ask some questions. Other than that, he had no visitors. Especially not the one visitor he had wanted to see. Having Sherlock visit him at the hospital gave him a good feeling. He knew he wasn't the sort to stay by your bedside until you got better but it still comforted John that he came at all. Like that one night when he'd collected the evidence John had been clever enough to hide. That small message that made him smile.

_Feel Better - SH_

John smiled as he eyed it. He talked back to it as if it would reply, "I'd feel a lot better if you were here…"

Then there was the most recent text he'd received "Noted and reciprocated." He said aloud, wondering what that even meant. There was something so cryptic about it. Sherlock loved him back? Even just thinking that gave him chills because it was so unexpected. He'd told himself he would never have told Sherlock the truth unless he was going to die. Well, that plan went flying out the window the moment he'd been kidnapped. But Sherlock was so calm and didn't seem at all opposed. John didn't know what to expect when he saw him again. Should he ask him?

He looked out the window at the sky. It was dark; Night time. But he knew that somewhere his nocturnal flatmate was still awake. It contemplated a few times that night whether or not he should text him. It would definitely put his mind at ease. But ultimately, he decided not to. So, he tried his best to go to sleep. He would be home soon enough

The day had finally come. It was the day John was coming home. He was glad. He'd felt so useless just lying in a hospital. He also missed being with Sherlock. John thought again about that text he sent and what he'd received in return. No matter how many times he read it or thought it over, he still wasn't sure if it really meant what he thought it did. He was also intimidated to ask Sherlock about it; definitely unsure of how he'd react. It was Sherlock, after all.

"Yes, alright, Sherlock. Please!" John could be heard complaining as the two of them ventured up the stairs of their flat. Sherlock had his arm around him, helping him up and John wasn't having it. His aid just made him feel helpless, even if he secretly admired the unusual act of caring. "I'm fine!"

"Those were almost your exact words to me before you got abducted, weren't they?" Sherlock teased, remembering how often John had been complaining about being bored in that hospital bed.

"Shut up, Sherlock" John replied.

"Then quit your whining…" The detective requested and they reached the top step and entered their home. Sherlock walked him over to the couch to sit down, "There." He stretched his arms a moment before resting them, "Now, why don't you just-"

"Say sleep and I'll kill you…" John interrupted.

"Well, no…I was going to say: Just sit there and I'll bring you some tea" Sherlock corrected him.

John smiled, "You" He paused, "Made tea? For me?"

"'Course" Sherlock answered, walking off to the kitchen.

John didn't know what to think. He rubbed his face in a sort of exhausted way, "Actually, I think I'll skip it…"

Before he reached the kitchen, Sherlock turned around with question inhabiting his face, "What? Why?"

"I've just left a hospital…Last thing I need is one of your special brewed experiments" John said.

Sherlock shot him a strange look, "You actually believe I'd drug an ill man's tea?"

The Army doctor just responded with a look that said 'You know exactly what I'm talking about, Sherlock' Sherlock just smiled and got the tea anyway. He set down a tray on the coffee table and handed John a cup. He faltered a moment so he just placed it in his hands. Then he took his own cup and began to sip.

"It would really do you good to have more faith in me" He breathed, inhaling the drink's steamy aroma.

"Right" was John's only word before he finally began to drink from his own cup. He made a small "Mmm" sound as he swallowed. The tea was good and just the way he'd liked it. He looked up at Sherlock and gave him a nod to show his appreciation. Sherlock shot him a quick smile and then turned in the other direction, drinking once more. He walked away and then back a few times, not saying a word. John hadn't spoken and before he knew it, the only sound through the room was light breathing and tiny snores. He turned his head to the side and saw John through the corner of his eye; Asleep

Sherlock smiled and walked away, cup in hand, "As expected…"

A small dosage wouldn't hurt, Sherlock thought to himself. John needed the rest anyhow. Once he was sure his flatmate was asleep, he finished his the remainder of his tea and placed the cup on the counter. He then walked over to the couch and picked him up slowly. John groaned sleepily a couple of times. Sherlock gave a silent laugh as he carried him off to his bedroom; it was the closest. When he set him down on the soft mattress, he blinked and tilted his head as he gazed at him. John was a true wonder to see when he slept. Sherlock caressed his hair with a few fingers and trailed them down John's warm cheeks. Sherlock took an inhale and then closed his eyes. The sound of John's breathing; It was soft and played like a symphony through Sherlock's ears; all the proof that John was here. He could relax now.

"Sleep well." He paused, taking his hand back but still staring, "John"

John tossed around a little in the bed as he began to stir. He'd been asleep for a good number of hours. His eyes opened and closed a few times but then he instantly shot up when he realized his location had changed. He looked around the room a couple times, shaking his head to compose himself from his groggy state.

"Sher?" He began, "Sherlock?"

No answer.

He rubbed his eyes with both palms before he slowly attempted to get up. His legs were a little shaky at first but he managed to regain his normal mobility as he exited the room. When he entered the living room, he noticed Sherlock sitting on a chair, one leg folded over the other, just reading. All John could do was stare.

"G'evening, John…" Sherlock greeted, not looking up from his book. He must have been able to read John's thoughts because just when he was going to speak again, he did, "…You're a doctor …and as such you probably very well know the road to recovery isn't one best spent on the couch.."

John looked away a second, back at Sherlock and then the direction of the bedroom. He gestured to it with a thumb and looked at Sherlock once more, "So, you, uh, took me to the bedroom..your bedroom?"

"Yes" Sherlock replied casually, turning a page in his book. He paused a moment and then tilted his head to the side, pointing John's attention to an item in the room, "Oh..! By the way, those came for you…"

John walked up to notice a bouquet of red roses sitting by the table next to Sherlock's chair. He was a bit taken aback.

"What…I-Who…?"

Sherlock spoke again and shook his head a couple times. His voice sounded confused yet at the same time, nervous… "Must be some kind of a get well present…You'd understand that sort of thing…Can't imagine who they're from though. Didn't catch a name…Although, there might be a card inside…" He shrugged like it was unimportant.

John eyed Sherlock strangely and then walked over to the flowers and picked them up, "Oh…Well…That was certainly nice…" He eyed the card and barely released the last two words of his sentence, "…of them"

The card's handwriting was undeniably female; very curly. It read;

_ Hey, love. Oh gosh, I probably shouldn't write this but these are really from Sherlock. He really is a shy thing. Asked me to sign the card. Hope you feel better. He's been worried about you ~ Mrs. Hudson _

John's eyes trailed up to view Sherlock who seemed to be trying to look like he wasn't paying attention whatsoever.

The detective could feel his eyes on him, "So, who're they from?"

John jumped slightly and lifted the card in the air a moment. He coughed and his tone was soft as he tried to lie for Sherlock's sake, "Says Mrs. Hudson…"

"Oh, really?" Sherlock asked, with fake surprise, "Hmm"

John looked down at the flowers and was just bewildered. His heart was jumping for joy. Sherlock bought him flowers? Wow. That was just something really hard to wrap his mind around. I mean, it's one thing receiving a gift from the one you love but it's another thing entirely receiving it from someone with a character such as Sherlock. Was he trying to make up for not being there? Should he say something to him?

He decided to stop playing around and just said it. He stared right at Sherlock, not blinking, "Thanks…"

"For what?" He asked, still trying to look like his attention was elsewhere.

"You know very well 'for what'" John replied all-knowingly, "I know they're from you…Would it kill you to admit it?"

Sherlock finally looked up at him and saw John waving the card. Even at such a distance Sherlock could read pieces of the message and caught his name mentioned. At that moment, he cursed Mrs. Hudson and then himself for not proofreading the card.

John rolled his hand in a circular pattern, "This is the part of the conversation where you say 'You're welcome' or 'No problem'"

Sherlock nodded and said awkwardly, "Um, you're welcome…There. That good?"

John nodded and then looked to the side, "Yes, fine. Thank you, Sherlock…" He went off to sit in a different chair.

Sherlock glanced up at him. John looked like a mixture of disappointed and tired. He was confused. He was trying all these different methods of showing his affections but he just seemed to be lousing it up.

"Do you like them?" Sherlock broke the silence in the room. John's head instantly shot up from the inquiry. Sherlock continued, "The flowers…" He heard John trying to form a sentence but failing miserably so he spoke once more, "I thought they might suit you"

John nodded, "They do. Yes. They're great." John felt so…actually, he didn't know what he felt. Maybe that text had meant what he originally thought after all. However, almost everything between them had stayed the same so he couldn't be sure. He needed to ask, "Sherlock?"

"Hmm?"

"Listen. About that text…" John began, "The one you sent…"

"Yes?" Sherlock questioned but then actually looked at John and set down his book. "Right…" He stood and strolled over to the Army doctor, "You wish for me to elaborate…Thought my actions would be proof enough." John tried to interrupt but Sherlock continued speaking. He straightened his jacket, "One more couldn't hurt…"

John didn't even get the chance to say his name when Sherlock leaned down, took his face in his hands and kissed him. John didn't kiss back for a moment and Sherlock opened his eyes. It seemed like Sherlock was about to release him but John wouldn't let that happen. He pulled on the detective's jacket and closed his eyes, his lips pressed firmly against his. With such force, Sherlock almost lost his balance once or twice. He kept it by placing a hand at the top of John's chair. After a second or two, he also closed his eyes.

"That…was quite extraordinary…" John said, a bit out of breath.

"Yes…" Sherlock replied, "I'd…have to agree…" He paused and then asked, "Quite clear now, I suppose?"

"Very" was John's only response before he grabbed the back of Sherlock's head, semi pulling his hair and their lips connected once more. He released him for but a moment to say in a loud whisper, "You have no idea how long I've wanted this"

They kissed again and Sherlock broke it once to say, "Judging by the rapid movements…" He took a breath, "..And…this high level of passion…I'd say quite some time" Sherlock's lips belonged to John once more and he held his face firmly. Sherlock's right knee now rested next to John's thigh on the chair.

John opened Sherlock's jacket and maneuvered his way to run his hands up and down the detective's back. The shirt was so silky and smooth. He could feel the warmth of Sherlock's body through it. Sherlock rolled his shoulders and shook the jacket down to his forearms. Making one arm free, he removed his jacket and it fell to the floor.

"John…?" Sherlock asked, catching his breath from all the snogging they'd been doing. Both his hands were on John's shoulders, preventing him from kissing again just yet.

"What is it…? What's wrong?" John asked, confused.

"Tell me" John still eyed him strangely so he repeated himself, "Tell me. What you said in the text. I need to hear it from your own voice"

"Sherlock.." John said.

Did he really not believe what he read? Wasn't what was going on right now proof? He'd never seen the great consulting detective have such an insecure moment. It was so… human.

Yes. Sherlock was human and he did care. He always said that he didn't care what people thought of him. But he cared about what _ John _ thought and that's what made him so special to him. That's why Sherlock had visited that night and that was why he'd shown up on the rooftop. He claimed not to have a heart yet did things that contradicted that statement. That's why John had fallen in love with him.

"Alright." John nodded, caressing the hands on his shoulders. He saw Sherlock staring at him intently as if he was examining something very complicated. John dropped his hands to his knees and his eyes traveled up to meet Sherlock's. He raised a hand and put it on Sherlock's arm, "Sherlock Holmes…I love you"

Sherlock's eyes covered every inch of John's face. Everything confirmed what John had just said. But there was something that he couldn't understand no matter how hard he looked.

Sherlock made a confused face, "Why?"

John had to laugh a little bit, "He wants reasons, does he?" He paused a moment, "Not sure if you're asking because you're really curious or you just want to hear me say it…"

Sherlock gave a tiny smile, "A little of both"

John sighed and then began to list his reasons as if he were giving him the details of a case, "Because you're a dick…" He paused and Sherlock almost spoke but John continued, "Because you play violin late at night and early in the morning. You don't talk sometimes for days. You leave toes and fingers in my Tupperware. You poison my tea…" He raised his pointer finger, "Which, by the way, I could taste the sedative…" He continued on with the list, "You throw fits about the silliest stuff, You drag me along to every bloody case despite me having prior plans…"

Sherlock had to interrupt him there, "Okay, okay. Hang on…I thought we were talking about why you _loved _ me…"

John raised his eyebrows, "Oh, I am." Sherlock didn't seem to understand, " If you would let me finish…" He cleared his throat and started up again, giving Sherlock one of his gentlest smiles, "You're brilliant, as you already know." Sherlock smiled at that, "Everything about you is...just fantastic…Even your faults…"

"I don't have faults" Sherlock corrected.

"Yes. You do." John smiled when he said this.

Sherlock chuckled at his words and changed the subject, "So, do you feel better?"

John looked up at him and placed both hands on his face. He looked deep into his eyes before closing their distance with a kiss and saying in an almost whisper, "I most definitely feel better…"  
-


End file.
